My Beef with Leggings

 

My Beef with Leggings

 

     I’ve had a beef with leggings ever since they became popular. All that ever comes to mind is my younger son commenting that girls with them on look like they forgot to put on their dress after their tights for church. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

      I don’t care who you are, big or small, leggings are either an abuse or a neglect of power, never appropriate for a professing Christian. The abuse is in showing as much as possible, leaving nothing to the imagination. And the neglect is in covering all that is possible so as not to be responsible for not fitting into what we’d otherwise wear.

     If people who appreciate seeing females in leggings could smell the leggings, I think they’d be put off so much that they might just change their minds. Having five daughters, I have done my share of female legging laundry. Ain’t nothin’ supposed to be that close to the skin for that long a time! This reminds me also of thongs. I will never forget the laundry duty I had for a professional model I babysat for in my early teens. When I saw what was on the “tale-end” of her thongs, I was forever impressed that it’s a nasty idea. And then, there was the girl with the long maxi dress at church bent over at the altar, and everyone could see clear lines of every detail of her thongs. They’re just not a good plan!

     Then, there are the grown women from church I see at the wearing leggings and short tops, in the name of retaining their youth I suppose. It’s not whether or not they can pull it off; they CAN. But it is whether or not they SHOULD, even in a lady’s class, because men ARE going to see you. There will inevitably be a need to run an errand that one time, then we just get sloppy about our accountability after that because it’s just too easy to do what everyone else is.

     And aren’t we ladies supposed to be exemplifying what our girls should be doing? So, don’t be that lady who CAN’T wear leggings but the lady who WON’T. Ain’t nobody gonna listen to the lady who can’t, but they might to the lady who CAN but WON’T out of grace and self-respect. 

     Finally, there’s my Melody, my mini-me, who deals with the same issues I do, ones I should’ve had managed well before my fifth child. I shouldn’t have been so happy to get back into my old jeans that I would leave an impression that men’s attention is worth any amount of immodesty.